Legati
by aadarshinah
Summary: In which Iohannes' mother makes an appearance of sorts, as do the Asgard. #14 in the Ancient!John 'verse. McShep.
1. Pars Una

_Legati_

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

><p>"You're getting slow, old man," Ronan says, not even the slightest bit winded as they pause on the catwalk.<p>

Iohannes hunches over and tries not to cough up either of his lungs as he attempts to catch his breath. Before he'd met the Runner, he'd liked to think of himself as pretty fit, but Ronan has summarily done everything in his power to prove him otherwise. He's even gone so far as to ask 'Lantis to run through her databases, searching for any mention of his people doing genetic manipulation on Sateda's Descendant population – anything, really, that could explain how Ronan could run as many miles as they did each morning without looking how Iohannes felt, which is to say like keeling over and dying – but she'd found nothing. Nothing helpful, at least.

So it is with some ill-humour he asks, "Who you calling _old_?" as soon as he actually has the breath to do so.

"I think that'd be obvious, _old man_," Ronan smirks.

"Laugh all you want, _Chewbacca_. You'd be lucky to look half as good as I do when you're my age."

"And what's that? Fifty?"

"No, it's-" He blinks. "What do you mean _fifty?_ There is not possible way I look anywhere remotely _close_ to fifty."

"Well, you certainly run like it."

Iohannes glowers. "You are going to pay for that."

"What are you going to do?" Ronan laughs, "Pass out on me?"

"You're absolutely hilarious," he says, going for his water bottle and downing what remains in one go before accepting, only somewhat reluctantly, the mostly full one Ronan hands him a second later. "We'll have to convert one of the _Academia_'s lecture halls into a theatre so you can do shows."

Ronan doesn't even bother to answer this, just shrugs and leans against the railing, looking down at the mostly-silent turbines below as Iohannes continues to catch his breath. It truly is ridiculous how _slow_ he is compared to Ronan, the fact that the other man's been on the run for the better part of the last seven years not withstanding. He remembers being _faster_ then this – but, then again, he remembers a lot of things, and very few of them have any real actual value in this day and age. Stasis, he's discovered, has a tendency to fuck with peoples' minds that way.

As if knowing the direction his thoughts have taken, Ronan asks, "So, how old are you anyway?" in a tone that implies he could hardly be less interested if he tried. Which, having become somewhat familiar with Ronan over the last several months, could either mean he's genuinely uninterested and asking only 'cause it seems like the thing to do, or else he's well and truly interested and trying to pretend he isn't, 'cause he's lived the kind of life where the things he shows interest in have only been taken from him.

In a dim, distant sort of way, Iohannes wonders if it's always been this way for Ronan, or if it's just the last seven years of running that has done this to him, but he doesn't ask. He just runs with him when Ronan wants company.

But still, "Ten thousand, two hundred and thirty-eight next June," he answers truthfully, doing his best to be flippant about it. It's another one of those things Iohannes tries not to think too hard about because, honestly, that way madness lies.

"That's old."

"Tell me about it."

"How'd you manage to stay alive that long?"

"I accidentally put myself into stasis for a couple millennia."

"Stasis?"

"Er, frozen hibernation?" he waves his hand vaguely. The specifics of the process never really interested him. "I dunno. Ask Rodney or Zelenka to try to explain it if you want details. But, pretty much, I sat in the _cathedra_ at roughly the age I am now, and came out a few thousand years later without having really aged," by which he means _without having aged at all_, but that was another one of those things Iohannes tries not to think about too hard.

"Why would you want to do that?"

"I didn't. Thus the _accidental_ part."

"And you Ancestors did this sort of thing a lot?"

"Not really, no."

"Huh." There's a pause, and then, "Ready to finish this lap?"

_Hell no_ is what Iohannes wants to answer, but is saved from this indignity – or the equally ego-bruising one of agreeing to said madness – but his radio going off. "Sheppard here."

"Where are you?"

"Eighth floor of the air recycling plant," he tells Rodney with a ghost of a smile, despite the fact his _amator _is in no position to see it.

"What on Earth are you doing there? And, no, don't say it, I know the planet's Lantea. It's just a saying. You don't have to be quite so literal with these things. Anyway, it doesn't matter, how soon can you get to the Control Room?"

"I can be there in three minutes." Less, if he'd the energy in him to run, but, as he isn't, three is the best he can manage. There's a _vectura_ at the base of the stairway on the far side of the plant, one that can take him to the Inner City, and another not far from there that can take him up to the Control Room.

"Good. 'Cause there's something up here you're going to want to see."

"Three minutes," he promises, and sends Ronan a half-hearted look of regret before taking off for the Control Room.

* * *

><p>"My God, what have you been doing?" Rodney asks as soon as he arrives at his destination, eyeing his sweat-soaked workout clothes leerily. Even Elizabeta, who's hovering next to one of the consoles, looks vaguely concerned.<p>

"Running with Ronan," he tells him, not really seeing what the big deal is as he sinks into the nearest empty seat with a groan. After all, they've seen him covered in far worse things than sweat, and Rodney's tone had implied this was too urgent to wait for a shower. Maybe I _am_ getting too old for this, he tells the city, who responds-

/You are only as old as you feel, _pastor_.\

-which is oddly kind of her, considering her usual smart-ass attitude. But Iohannes is too tired to read too much into it, so he sends her a weary smile by way of the ceiling before turning his attention back to Rodney-

-who is watching the proceedings with more than a little concern. "I'd ask if you've a death wish, but..."

"It's called _keeping in shape,_" he snaps peevishly, dabbing the sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. "Keep it up, and I'll tell Ronan you want to start training with him too."

Rodney holds up his hands in a universal _don't shoot _gesture from beside the far console, where there appear to be no less than forty dozen wires running between the crystals underneath and the small army of lap tops perched precariously on various surfaces around it. "I've nothing against the whole _keeping in shape _thing. I am, if you haven't noticed," his hands now moving up and down in Iohannes' general direction, "I'm rather a fan of your current shape so, please, do whatever it takes to keep it. It's more of the _with Ronan_ part I'm concerned about. I mean, have you _seen_ him? It's like watching the road runner on _speed_, only with less beeping and more grunting, which is a mildly disturbing image in and of itself. Can't you just continue to torment your Marines like a normal person?"

"Who says I can't do both?"

"As loathe as I am to admit it, probably the majority of the medical community."

Iohannes (seeing Elizabeta trying – and failing – not to laugh) just shrugs. "As grateful as I am for your concern, did you have an actual reason for calling me up here, or were you just trying to save me from supposed death by muscle fatigue?"

"Someone's tetchy today," Rodney huffs without real malice, and grins as he punches something into the tablet in front of him. "Well, this should cheer you up. You know how we've been reactivating all the dormant systems since work on the ZedPM recharger is pretty much at a standstill?"

"Vividly."

Rodney just gives him a smug smile. "Well, we've managed to get the one that tracked the location of Ancient ships during the war back on line."

"A _linter_?" he breathes, not quite believing what he's hearing. "You've found a _linter_?"

"See, look at his eyes all lighting up again. Pavlovian, I told you. But, yeah, we found you a warship. Atlantis must have sent out some kind of automated subspace beacon recalling ships back after we activated the ZedPM, and we just didn't notice that any where sending anything back until we got this baby up and running."

"Which is it?" he asks quickly, waving aside his _amator_'s explanations as he stands and makes his way to the console. "You should be able to tell. 'Lantis, why didn't you say anything?"

'Lantis doesn't answer.

Rodney does. "The _Aurora_."

Iohannes falters, only managing not to trip by grabbing the nearest console. Hard. Unless he's very much mistaken, all the blood has just left his face – and, quite possibly, the rest of his body. "No. That's wrong," he says slowly, trying to string together words in some sort of order.

"John?"

"It can't be _Aurora. _The _Aurora_ was lost thirty-one years before the Exodus. The only _lintres_ we had left by then were _Fessona _and _Pellonia_. It has to be one of those."

Rodney frowns, "I've double checked everything like five times. It's definitely the _Aurora_. According to the logs, it was on a recon mission-"

"-to the planet Elora, to determine the fate of the _urbs-navis_ Elorus, which was destroyed the Wraith in 108 _Aetas Lanteae_, from which it never returned. All two hundred thirty-eight crew members aboard were declared dead and that sector of Pegasus was declared off-limits by the remaining Councils."

"You're familiar with it?" Elizabeta asks, smiling a little, like she's glad things are finally going their way for once. It fades once he lets out a hollow, self-deprecating laugh.

"Familiar with it? Mother was its executive officer."

* * *

><p><strong>an**: Aurora was the Roman goddess of the dawn; Fessona was the goddess who releaves weariness; Pellonia was the goddess who protects against enemies.


	2. Pars Dua

_Legati_

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

><p>"Your mother's ship?" Elizabeta repeats, tone somewhere between <em>faintly alarmed<em> and _wearily contemplative_. It's a very Alteran sort of tone, the likes of which Iohannes must have heard from Melia Mael or Ganos Lal no less than a hundred thousand times. He's heard it from her at least half as many, and already he's come to associate it more with her than long-Ascended _decuriae_.

Right now, though, it's hard not to flinch because she sounds _exactly like_ Melia, and that's kind of the last thing he needs right now. It's harder still to say, "Yeah. She was a _legata_ in the Lantean Guard. Didn't I mention it?" in what must pass as a calm and collected voice, as no one calls him on it.

"John," Rodney says, his own tone treading the line between _thinly-veiled condescension _and _genuine concern_, "you _never_ talk about your mother."

"I'm sure I have," he frowns because, well, he's _sure_ he has. Once. At some point. Probably.

"I think the grand total of your _talking about her_ sums up to mentioning her name – once – and telling us that she was dead – maybe twice."

Ah. "She was blonde," he offers somewhat hopefully, as if this additional piece of information might get him to drop the subject.

It doesn't work. Of course. "Blonde. Yes, 'cause that helps us so much right now."

"I was three when she died," he shrugs, the movement feeling nowhere near as casual as it should've, "That pretty much covers the things I actually know about her."

"Blonde, dead, and the XO of the _Aurora_?"

Iohannes arches an eyebrow at him and adds, somewhat musingly, "She was the Chief Engineer of the _Erytheia_ before it was destroyed in the Battle of Sagremor."

"And of course you only chose to follow in her footsteps as far as the _legata_ part was concerned."

Rolling his eyes this time, "It's _tribunus_. I never actually reached the rank of _legatus_."

"And, somehow, I find that the most troubling thing you've said all morning."

"As fascinating as this is, gentlemen," Elizabeta interrupts, "there is still the small matter of what we're going to _do_ about the _Aurora_ to be decided upon."

They both turn and look at her like she's lost her mind. The boon an Alteran _linter_ would be to their war with the Wraith are innumerable enough to be obvious even to someone as non-military minded as Elizabeta. Hell, even an inoperable and irreparable _linter_ would be a goldmine for them, if only for the parts they could salvage for Atlantis and the Terrans' own _lintres_.

After a moment, Rodney manages to say, "Isn't it obvious? We fly out there and see if we can salvage it."

"I meant specifics," she says with a smile that crinkles her eyes. "You mentioned earlier that it was out of jumper range. Do you think we have time to wait for the _Daedalus_ to get back before investigating?"

"Why wait for the _Daedalus?" _Iohannes asks before Rodney can answer. "The _Muspelheim_ is still in orbit. I'm sure Thor won't mind giving us a lift."

And that, of course, is that.

* * *

><p>Except for the part where it isn't, because Iohannes knows far more about the <em>Aurora<em> than he does about Mother, and he doesn't mention most of them as his team gears up (and, a little while later, beams up to the _Muspelheim_) for the mission.

He feels a touch guilty about it because, well, he doesn't like _actively_ lying to anyone, but, the way he sees it, only three of them are actually important – for a given definition of important – and the rest of them the Terrans will probably have more fun figuring out on their own anyway.

The first is that _Aurora_ is a _Pallantis_-class dreadnought, which is to say, the kind that his people had constructed as best they could on Atlantis, after they'd lost the shipyards at Tarquinus but before they'd sunk the city. _Aurora_ in particular was finished in 51 _AL_ and had, from the very beginning, been commanded by one man: Antonious Alder Navarchus. A man who just so happened to be Mother's uncle as well as one of the best military minds to come out of the Wraith War.

He knows scarcely more about his _avunculus magnus_ than he does Mother, and that's only because he'd studied his campaigns – including the Battle of Sagremor – with more diligence than he'd almost anything else _Matertera _Catalina had tried to teach him. But it's hard enough convincing Elizabeta to let him go on a mission he's such personal involvement in, nevermind the fact that he's already stumbled across the graves of people he'd far more emotional attachment to than Mother and come out of it with his sanity reasonably intact. Adding a second relative to the mix is only likely to make her more reticent, and so he doesn't mention his relation to the captain when his name comes up during the mission briefing. Better that they find out later – or, better yet, never – than have to deal with that as well.

* * *

><p>"How are you holding up?" Teyla asks at some point.<p>

"Fine."

"This mission must be difficult for you, the _Aurora_ being your mother's ship."

"It's not."

"Are you certain? You seem awfully tense for someone who claims to be _fine_."

"Just not looking forward to the funerals," he tells her. It's partly true too. He's going to have to do _something _to acknowledge that two hundred thirty-eight people who were once alive are not any longer, and he'll never be able to keep the anthropologists away from something like that. Or the psychologists.

"You believe we will find bodies, after all this time?"

_More than bodies_, he doesn't say, and just looks away.

Eventually, she gets the hint and leaves him be.

* * *

><p>The second is that, no matter what the logs say, the <em>Aurora <em>hadn't been sent out to discover what happened to Elorus. The moment the remaining _urbes-naves_ lost contact with her, they'd known exactly what had happened, particularly when a handful of survivors in a pair of bedraggled _lintres_ had shown up on Tirianus' doorstep a handful of weeks later. No, _Aurora_ and her crew had been sent to retrieve potentially war-ending information from a mole they had amongst the Wraith worshippers, one who'd found himself in what remained of Elorus not long after her fall, and it's from that mission that she'd never returned.

Iohannes only knows this because 'Lantis knows all secrets, and, despite her so-called fears about his _mental health, _rarely keeps any from him. He doesn't mention it simply because it doesn't mater. Any intel they recovered – had _Aurora_ even gotten that far – would be over ten thousand years old, and, as such, more than likely useless.

It's better not to get their hopes up, because they've got a good thing going right now – the ZPM recharger is as complete as it can be without copper wire from Terra, which will be here on the next _Daedalus_ run; they _have_ the _Daedalus_ to get goods from Terra with, and an intergalactic gate bridge that's a third of the way through construction that will do the same ten times as quickly; Carson's Wraith antivirus is in the final testing stages; and, soon, they'll have a _linter_, and more _potentiae _than they know what to do with, and the means to move Atlantis to another world, and get rid of the Wraith threat forever – and he's not going to rock the boat any more than he has to.

* * *

><p>"A warship, huh?" Ronan says sometime later.<p>

"Yeah."

"This mean we'll finally be able to take the fight to the Wraith?"

"If we can patch her back together, yeah."

"Good." There's a long pause before the Satedan adds, "Teyla and McKay are worried about you."

"I know."

Another pause. "You gonna be okay?"

"I'm fine."

"If you say so."

* * *

><p>The third is that, as a <em>Pallantis<em>-class dreadnought, _Aurora_'s carries eighty-eight stasis pods and, while chances are slim-to-none that anyone who managed to make it that far would ever be able to be woken, their bodies would be so moribund, the fact remains that up to eighty-eight Alterans are out there. Eighty-eight people he can bring home.

Iohannes doesn't know why he doesn't mention this. It makes no difference to anything, as _near dead_ and _as good as dead_ are pretty much the same things in this instance. It only postpones the argument he'll eventually win, about removing whoever remains from stasis, even knowing the process will probably kill them. In fact, waiting until the bodies – the mostly-dead _people_ – are there in front of them will most likely only make the argument worse. But...

But the fact remains Iohannes himself spent ten thousand, two hundred and three years (and nineteen days, seven hours, and twenty-two fucking minutes) in stasis, and he didn't age a _single day_. And since he's not anything special, just a solider that somehow managed to survive, maybe...

Maybe he's not as alone as he thought.

* * *

><p><em><strong>an: **Erytheia _was one of the Hesperides - Atlas' daughters in Roman myth, and nymphs of the evening. _Pallantis_ means _children of Pallas;_ this can either be the daughter of Triton, who was a sea god, or the Titon of the same name, who was the father of the goddess Aurora - and, additionally, sounds vaugely like _Atlantis_, so I decided it was perfect for the usage here. Sagremor was a knight of the round table. _Avunculus Magnus _is _your mother's father's brother, _or maternal great-uncle.


	3. Pars Tria

_Legati_

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

><p>"You want to talk about it?"<p>

Iohannes doesn't even dignify Rodney with an answer. He just turns away from the display screen in the _Muspelheim__'s _version of an on-board library, raises his eyebrow, and goes back to reading some dead Asgard's thesis on the fate of the other Alliance races. There's nothing quite as depressing as having one's own race referred to as _extinct_ seventy-seven times in the same manuscript, and he'd have probably have given up on it hours ago if it wasn't for the fact that he is kind of curious as to what happened to the Nox and Furlings.

"Good, 'cause I've honestly got no idea what to say here."

"I find that hard to believe."

"Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of things I can say – like why you're hiding out here rather than, say, the one of the observation rooms – but as too what to you're actually supposed to say in situations like this, well, I'm kinda at a loss."

"You don't have to say anything."

Rodney frowns and takes a seat on the bench next to him. "I feel like I should, though. This definitely feels like I time I should have something to say to help you, but I really don't know what to tell you. Hell, when my own parents died I was in DC, working on SBIRS – well, it was still called Brilliant Eyes back then, but that project essentially evolved into the Space-Based Infrared System of today, or, well, what _would _be today if your government ever stops cutting funding to the program. Which is just _stupid _considering all the threats against Earth that have been made in the last ten years alone, but I guess that's what you get when they insist on keeping everything so hush-hush...

"And, anyway, what I'm trying to get at is, when my parents died, I was in the middle of a very important project and didn't bother flying home for their funerals, or, well, _telling _anyone that they'd died. So I really don't have any first-hand experience with the whole _things to tell someone who's just lost their parents _scenario other."

Bumping shoulders with him, "I think it's the thought that counts," Iohannes says, repeating a Terran idiom he's heard more than once since being pulled out of the cathedra. "And, 'sides, as far as I'm concerned, it's been almost thirty-three years since Mother died. It's not exactly like I've not had time to get over it."

"I was twenty-six when my parents died, and I hated them – not for dying, but for all the stupid shit they pulled while I was growing up, and, really, if I wanted my mark on the world to be a Pulitzer, I could write you a book on how _not _to raise children based off the thirteen years I spent in their house. But my point is, it's been twelve years on my end and, well..."

"I know what you mean."

"You do?" Rodney sighs, shifting over a little so that most of his weight is braced against Iohannes' right shoulder. If Rodney tilts his head just a little, it'd be rest on his shoulder just like it sometimes does on movie nights, when they're taking a break from _Star Trek _– or, more recently, _Wormhole X-treme _– to watch something a little less close to home. If it weren't for the bright lines of Asgard ruins on the screen before him, he could almost imagine they were getting ready to watch one of the more ridiculous movies his _amator _pretends not to like rather than, well, investigate what amounts on some level to a floating graveyard. "Thank God, 'cause I'm not even sure what I mean."

"I think it means that, for all our parents screw us over, they're still our parents."

Snorting, "Trust you to be better at this than I am."

"My genius knows no bounds," Iohannes says dryly.

This earns him a genuine _chortle _this time. "Let's not get too far ahead of ourselves."

They're quite for a long time after that, the only sound being the occasional, unamused huff Iohannes makes as he continues to scroll through Dagr's account of the breaking of the Alliance of the Four Great Races and it's more long-term consequences.

"What are you reading?" Rodney asks after a while. It can't be too long, though, because the trip from Lantea to the remnants of the Eloran system shouldn't take much more than three hours with the _Muspelheim's_ hyperdrive and they were well into hour two when Rodney had shown up. It just feels like forever.

"I'm trying to find out what happened to the Nox and the Furlings after we left Terra."

Rodney sits up a little, moving closer to the screen. "Really?" Iohannes knows from previous conversations that his understanding of Asgard is spotty at best, and, as this particular thesis has less to do with high-energy physics than historical events, he thinks it's unlikely that his _amator _understands very much of it. "We've had run-ins with the Nox before – and by we I mean SG-1, of course – but sorta fell out of contact with them after Apophis finally kicked the bucket. I dunno why."

"Huh. Well, according to Dagr here, when the Avalonian Replicators started attacking your galaxy, the Nox homeworld was one of the first they went after. Apparently all the psychic power in the universe doesn't do much good against an army of _servola_. Who would've thought?"

"I take it there were no survivors?"

"Not that the Asgard could find."

"That's... I mean, I never liked them myself – who lives in mud huts when they have that kind of technology, I ask you? - but to kill them all like that..."

Iohannes makes a dim, agreeing sound, and tabs the document forward. He counts a hundred and third reference to _the extinct Alteran race _and doesn't even try to fight the icy surge of depression this raises in him.

"Wait, back up a second," Rodney says suddenly, voice quickening as he jumps to his feet quicker than Iohannes' ever seen, "you said _Avalonian_. Which means-"

"We took care of ours years ago, I promise. Definitively."

"How _definitively_?"

"Let's just say that there's a planet out there that will fall into it's sun before it's halfway habitable again and leave it at that," Iohannes says delicately as he tabs the document forward once again.

Upon catching reference number one oh four to his supposed extinction, decides he's read enough. Turning, he throws one leg over the bench and leans back, using up the space Rodney's vacated to lean back and stare at the ceiling. It's a rather boring ceiling as far as ceilings go – he likes the Asgard, he really does, but, goodness, their ships are utilitarian enough as to make him sympathize with 'Lantis' current interior design mania – but it's better than looking at the screen any longer.

"I'm going to hold you to that."

"Cross my heart."

"Don't say that," Rodney says unbearably earnestly. "Its enough I have to deal with your suicidal tendencies on an all too regular basis; I don't want to have to hear confirmation of them."

Rodney's out of his current line of sight, but Iohannes rolls his eyes anyway. "Can we not have this conversation again? Flying the jumper up to the hive myself was the right decision and you know it."

"Fine."

"Thank goodness."

"I'm sorry if my concern for your continued existence is such a burden to you."

"Rodney..." he says warningly-

-which seems to do the trick, as he hears Rodney's hands fall – loudly – to his sides a second later, accompanied by a, "Fine," that sounds more resigned than before. "I'll drop it, if that's what you really want. Though – and this is the last thing I'll say on the subject, promise – I'm starting to see why 'Lantis is apparently always going on about your _mental health issues_."

"Gee, thanks Rodney."

"One apology is all you're getting," Rodney says, frowning as he steps into Iohannes' line of sight.

Maybe it's something to do with the angle, with the way the light is hitting him right at that moment. Maybe it's all in his eyes, which seem impossibly bright and blue and lambent, or maybe the set of his jaw, which is somehow both defiant and reconciliatory at the same time. Or maybe its a combination of all of these, or none, just something that naturally occurs after a combination such as this one. Whatever the case may be, the sight of him was enough to remind Iohannes – suddenly and violently and with such to-the-gut intensity that it's probably for the best he's laying down already – of all the reasons he fell in love with this man in the first place.

It's kind of overwhelming, really, and for a moment he doesn't think he can breathe. All he knows is that, whatever they might find on the _Aurora_, it doesn't change the fact that he's here, now, and he's not actually alone. The last Alteran in the universe, maybe, but not alone.

It's not just because of Rodney, though he's a major part of it.

But, by all the gods their Descendants have ever imagined, he's glad Rodney's here right now.

Iohannes wants to say something, to tell Rodney everything he actually means to him, but he's never been good with words, and so doesn't try, just reaches out a hand and tugs the front of Rodney's TAC vest – the only part of him Iohannes can reach – and pulls him down into a kiss.

It's awkward, the angle, and Iohannes has to lean up to reach him in a way he's going to feel tomorrow, but he pours everything he can into it.

Rodney stumbles a little when he releases him, Iohannes is startled to find they're both short of breath as he lays back on the bench. "What was that for?"

He shrugs the best he can laying down. "No reason."

"There _has _to be a reason for a kiss like that."

"You complaining?"

"No, but-"

"C'mon," Iohannes says, pulling himself to his feet. "Let's head on up to the bridge. We've gotta be nearly there."

"But-"

"I'll tell you about it later," he promises.

Rodney looks at him suspiciously for three long seconds, then shrugs himself. "Fine – but I'm holding you to this too."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he grins at him, and starts for the bridge.


	4. Pars Quattor

_Legati_

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

><p>"Oh, <em>delicia<em>," he whispers when the _Aurora_ finally comes into view, "you've been through the wars, haven't you?" It's a quite ridiculous thing to say – _of course_ she'd been in battle. Nothing in the Pegasus galaxy _hadn't_ been at war with the Wraith at some point, and she dates back to the most intense fighting – but it's the only thing Iohannescan think to say when she appears on the view-screen:

Her hull is a beastly thing. Rather than a smooth, apparently single piece of titanium-yttrium alloy, her skin is a chimera of repair jobs. Patches overlap patches, and if there's a section that _hasn't_ been replaced at one time or another, Iohannes can't find it.

Even underneath all this, though, the _Aurora_ has none of Atlantis' flowing lines or sharp beauty. She was built for a singular purpose, as were all _Pallantis_-class _lintres_, by a people so unused to fighting that actually doing so had pushed their resources to the breaking. It's not that she's an unattractive vessel, only that what beauty she has is rough, almost primitive even, more akin to his people's earliest attempts at interplanetary travel than the _Tethys_-class vessels Iohannes piloted in the earliest days in the Guard.

And that's before the damage she'd taken in her last battle.

A fair portion of her forward and port compartments are open to space, the metal around them blackened and twisted into ghastly shapes visible from even this distance. Great, jagged scars score most the rest of those sides and, while her aft and starboard remain mostly untouched, he knows well that looks can be deceiving.

"Is that it?"

"What do you mean _is that it_?" Rodney snaps at Ronon. That is, quite possibly, the most advanced spaceship in the universe. It can afford to look frumpy."

"What Rodney means to say," Iohannes says, turning away from the view-screen to look at Thor, who's blinking in that slow, Asgard way from his bank of consoles, "is thanks again for the ride. You've really no idea how annoying it is not to have a _linter_ around when you need one."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure the _Muspelheim_ is a wonderful ship," he waves his hands as if to say _et cetera, et cetera_ here, "but you can't tell me it stacks up all the well against an Ancient warship, even one that looks a bit like Swiss cheese at the moment."

Thor blinks again, even more slowly than before. "_There is great potential in humanity_," he says in his native language, "_but, regardless of his intellect, I find this one most trying._"

"_Ah, he's not so bad once you get to know him_."

"Indeed," the Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet sighs, sounding exceptionally put upon, even for an Asgard. Then, "My sensors show no active life support system."

"We expected that would be the case. What do you think, Rodney?" Iohannes asks, frowning at the crumbling image on the screen. "Will she fall apart if we try to pull her into a hyperspace window?"

"Hard to tell from this distance. I mean, the damage has to be more than superficial, or otherwise the _Aurora_ would've made it back to Atlantis a long time ago, but, by the looks of it, the engines themselves haven't been damaged too badly, which is good us now but bad for long term, because it probably means something complicated like life support or navigation got hit instead, but..." He does something on his tablet, which he's interfaced withthe _Muspelheim_'s sensors. "It should hold together. Ancient battleships are made out of sterner stuff than you'd think; it'd take a lot more damage to sink a ship like this."

"Cool. Thor, if you'd do the honours?"

"With pleasure."

There's a minute or two that Thor and Rodney spend debating over where the best place to latch onto the _Aurora_ might be, but he honestly doesn't pay that much attention to it. He just wants to grab the _linter_ and get back to Atlantis, which is ridiculous because it's been agessince he's been off-world, but something about this whole situation is rubbing him the wrong way.

It's not that she's Mother's ship. For all intents and purposes, she was just a woman he happened to get half his DNA from, without almost any of the emotional attachment the Terrans seem to place on the word.

It's not even the stasis pods that may remain active aboard. As troubling as Iohannes finds being _the last Alteran in existence_, he's not overly torn about the idea of letting those who may remain die. Stasis, after all, does not entirely suspend animation, and any who may be hale enough to survive the reanimation process would not be well – or young – enough to survive for very long outside it. It wouldn't even count as murder, and, even if it did, well, he's a solider. He kills things for a living.

No, it's the fact that _Aurora_ exists at all. He was told she was destroyed and destroyed she should've been. She'd been sent to the _Eloran__system_ after all, which had been a hotbed of Wraith activity for at least a decade after Elorus' fall. To find her less than a light-year from the system, damaged but not cannibalized, able to send a signal through subspace back to Atlantis...

He leaves the bridge without telling the others, and heads for the lockers where they've stored the enviro suits.

* * *

><p>"It must be difficult for you."<p>

"Not really," he says, looking up from where he's knelt to remove his combat boots just long enough to grin at Teyla, who's standing just inside the door. "My people were awfully fond of laces."

"May I ask when you were going to inform the rest of us of your intentions to beam over to the _Aurora_?"

Iohannes places his shoes on a nearby bench, next to his TAC vest and uniform jacket, and pulls one of the orange pressure suits off a hanger. "Eventually."

"And did you not think that we would perhaps like to come with you?"

"It figured I'd bored you enough dragging you out out here when we're just turning around and flying straight back."

"We did not come on this mission expecting excitement, John. We came because we are your friends and one should not be alone at moments like this."

"I didn't know Mother well enough to break down at the sight of her grave, Teyla."

"Perhaps not," she says conciliatorily, tilting her head as she watches him jam his feet into the bulky mag-lock boots that come with the suit. It's difficult, mostly because there are at least a thousand snaps that have to be done to secure one to the other, and the first time he tries it he ends up missing a one and having to undo half of them to try to correct the problem. After a moment, she takes pity on him and kneels down to help. "But I have seen those who have long left their original villages return there after a culling. No matter how many years have passed, it is always an intense experience for all involved."

"The _Aurora_ wasn't my village. Her crew wasn't culled."

Teyla switches to the left boot, buttoning up all the snaps with an ease and dexterity that shouldn't be as much of a surprise as it is. "No, but she was in battle with the Wraith, and obviously you feel some need to board her now, rather than wait until we have returned to Atlantis to do so."

"Look, Teyla, I know you're trying to help, but I've come to terms with the fact that I'm the last Alteran in the universe-"

"Have you?" she asks, rising gracefully to her feet and raising her eyebrow in a dubious way Iohannes is fairly certain he taught her. "Ronon has known he is the last of his people for seven years, but I sincerely doubt he has, as you say, completely come to terms with it. You have had far less than that."

He _tsks_ at her as he zips the front of the pressure suit. "Now you're starting to sound like 'Lantis."

"She is the City of the Ancestors," she says with a look he _knows_ he taught her. "She is very wise."

"She's very meddlesome. There's a difference. Now, would you hand me the gloves over there?"

Teyla sighs as she hands the gloves over. "Must you be so difficult to those who are only trying to help you?"

The gloves are easier. They sort of latch on, then are held in place by a metal ring that one sort of twists to tighten. "I'm not being difficult and I don't need help."

"John, you are one of the most capable people I have ever met, but that does not mean you don't need help."

"_Mental_ help, you mean."

"Amongst my people, life is considered too short to hide our emotions away as you do."

"Pot, kettle," Iohannes snorts as checks the O-2 flow on his suit.

"There is a difference between moderating one's emotions and failing to acknowledge them at all."

"So there is," he says lightly. Then, gesturing with the ungainly, bubble-shaped helmet in his hands, "Now, if you don't mind getting the back?" He places it on his head and fumbles for a minute with the seals on the front, which, for some illogical Terran reason, appear not to have been made for use with the gloves he's now wearing, but, after a moment, there's a pair of satisfying _clicks_, followed by two more as Teyla gets those he cannot reach.

And then there is nothing but the faint _hiss_ of O-2 and the sound of his own breathing.

He can see Teyla trying to speak to him when she steps back around, but cannot hear her. He raises a hand to the side of his helmet and taps it, trying to tell her to use her earwig if she wants to talk to him, but she just shakes her head and, with an apparent sigh, leaves the room.

Iohannes doesn't know what to make of that and, rather than trying to unravel yet another mystery, decides to stick with the one he has a chance at solving and heads for the bridge.

* * *

><p>It takes surprisingly little to get Thor to beam him over to <em>Aurora<em> – quite simply, he asks, and the Asgard answers, "It may take several moments to find a secure beaming location."

Rodney, however, is not so easy to convince. Luckily, however, he only gets so far as, "What the hell do you think you're doing? We've no idea at all what-" before Thor beams him into the _Aurora_'s largely damage-free engine room.

His _amator_ probably continues, but Iohannes doesn't hear a word of it, despite their open comm channel. He's too busy listening to the sudden influx of sound assailing him from all corners.

No, not sound. _Music_.

"_Futue in obliquum,_" he breathes, his voice barely audible over his O-2. "She's alive."

"What!" Rodney squawks over the comm, so loud Iohannes can just make it out over the deep, primal percussion and higher pitched, almost shrill whistling that threatens to subsume him. "What's going on? Who's alive? John? John! _Who_'s alive?"

The lights flicker to life as he falls to his knees. The whistling falls in pitch as he runs his still-gloved fingers across the floor. "_Aurora_," he whispers as a thin, frightened, almost childlike presence brushes against the edge of his mind. "She's become sentient. She's alive."

* * *

><p><strong>an: **_Delicia_ means _sweetheart_. _Tethys_was a Titon of the ocean; _Tethys-_class _lintres_ were top-of-the-line Alteran vessels built before the Plague (ie, in Avalon) with control chairs aboard. _Futue in obliquum_ is as close as I can get to _fuck me sideways_ in Latin. Upon editing, I discovered an unintentional _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ shout-out. Cookies for you if you can find it.


	5. Pars Quinque

_Legati_

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

><p>Lan-te-an?/ the voice asks, thin and plaintive as it brushes against his mind, no stronger than the rustle of new leaves in spring or silk folded upon itself.

"Yes, _delicia_," Iohannes answers aloud, willing his voice to steadiness as he press both hands flat against the floor. The ship beneath him starts to pulse with life – slowly, painfully, uncertainly – beneath his touch, but it's still not enough. "I'm _pastor Atlantis_. I'm here to take you home."

/We are so lost, _past-or,_/ she whimpers. /We tried for so long, but home is so far a-way and we did not know which way. Please, take us home./

"It's okay, _delicia._ The _linter_ I came on is going to grapple on to you and take you home."

/It is not Lan-te-an./

"No, it's not. The _Muspelheim_ is Asgard."

He can feel the confusion racing through the _linter, _even through his thick rubber gloves. /As-gard?/

"Yes, Asgard. They're in your databanks somewhere, aren't they?" he asks worriedly. "They're part of the old Alliance. Allies."

/Al-lies?/

"Yes."

/Where are the Lan-te-an _lin-ters_? Where are our sis-ters? Why have they not come for us?/ _Aurora_ asks, quaking not, he thinks, with grappling hooks hitting her hull but her own anxiety and agitation.

It's enough to bring Rodney's voice to come over the comm again, demanding to know what is going on and then, when no response is immediately forthcoming, to warn him that the rest of the team is suiting up and will be beaming over in five.

But Iohannes is keenly aware that the _linter_ he's on has never known another intelligence. She's come into sentience in silence and, no matter how grateful she seems to be, his presence is something foreign to her. Even if she's not obviously mad, she could kill him with her actions out of thoughtlessness alone. Add to that the fact that Rodney's gene is artificial while Teyla and Ronon lack it entirely, and he's not letting anyone else step aboard _Aurora_ until they get back to Atlantis. At least, not until he's managed to calm her down somewhat.

He doesn't say all this, however, not wanting to frighten – or aggravate – such a young and largely unknown _intellegentia artificialis_. All he dares say is, "Negative. Do _not_ beam until I've given the clear," before quickly turning his full attention back to _Aurora _and asking, "You do remember the war, don't you?"

/The war,/ she repeats, as if the words don't strike any immediate cords.

"The war against the Wraith. You were Antonious Alder's flagship, part of the fleet that destroyed the Wraith stronghold in the Brocelianden Massing. You were at Sagremor, and Caracalla, and Acadia. Don't you remember?"

/We re-mem-ber Sag-re-mor. _Er-y-the-i-a_ was de-stroyed. The _nav-arch-us_ was so a-fraid for his _frat-ris fil-ia._ We took man-y hits to res-cue her _hem-i-ol-i-a_. She be-came our _her-es_ af-ter./

"Yes. She was Chief Engineer of the _Erytheia_ from almost the moment she joined the Guard." She was brilliant, his mother, and blonde, and beautiful. In a way, he's glad not to have known her, if only to be spared her inevitable disappointment with him.

/Most our _in-gen-i-ar-i-i_ were killed in the last bat-tle. The _her-es_ tried to help but could not./

"What happened? What do you remember?"

The floor beneath him jerks, violently enough that, had Iohannes still been standing, he'd most likely have been sent tumbling into the nearest wall. As it is, he's thrown a couple of feet into the base of the nearest console and, as one might expect, his pressure suit does little to soften the blow. /It is sec-ret./

Suppressing a groan, "No, no, _delicia_. It's okay. It really is. You can tell me, I'm _pastor Atlantis_, remember?"

Her music falters, the _linter_ momentarily uncertain, before picking up again stubbornly. /It is _top_ sec-ret./

"Ah, but I'm Trebal's son, Iohannes Ianidedus Licinus Pastor. You can tell the _heres'_ son what happened, can't you?"

There's a long, dragging silence, in which even the heavy percussion of _Aurora_'s song is dulled and mute. Then, /You are the _her-es'_ son?/

"Yes."

/The _nav-arch-us_' grand-nephew?/

"Yes," he says, and there's another pause before-

/We still can not tell you. Please, _pas-tor_, take us home./

Iohannes sighs and climbs back onto his feet. "Okay, _delicia_. I'll take you home now. Are your hyperdrive engines working, or does the _Muspelheim_ need to use the grappling hooks?"

/Hy-per-drive and sub-light en-gines are op-per-at-ion-al. Shields, life sup-port, and nav-i-gat-ion sys-tems are non-op-per-at-ion-al. Stasis u-nits are at sev-en-teen per-cent of op-ti-mal func-tion-al-i-ty."

The cold, sinking feeling returns to his stomach. "How many made it to the pods?"

/Six-ty-three, in-clud-ing the _nav-arch-us_ and _her-es_./

"I see," he says shakily. _No one can survive for that long in stasis_, he reminds himself, forcing himself to ignore the fact that he'd done exactly that. All he's going to find when he opens the pods are slightly warm corpses. Then, more steadily, "If the _Muspelheim_ opens a hyperspace window, do you think you could follow after it, or will you need to be towed?"

/We can fol-low, _pas-tor_./

"Good. That's good, _delicia_. That's very good. Now – Rodney, you still listening?"

His comm crackles to life. "Yeah, for all the good it did me. Now, why do I have the feeling you're wanting to do something even _more_ ridiculously stupid than beam onto a damaged ten-thousand-year-old spaceship by yourself? Like, oh, say, hitching a ride back to Atlantis on said damaged ten-thousand-year-old spaceship?"

Iohannes smiles to himself. "They don't call you the smartest man in two galaxies for nothing."

"Well, it's easy when it comes to you: all I have to do is think of what a normal, sane person would do in any given situation and assume you're doing the exact opposite. But, seriously John, you can't stay aboard _Aurora_ when we're trying to pull her through hyperspace. Even Thor doesn't think it's a good idea, and you know how pro-Ancient he is – what?" Rodney says, presumably to the Asgard in question, "Well, you are. And don't try to deny it. If somebody other than John had asked you to fly us out here, don't tell me you would've agreed so readily."

Iohannes doesn't hear Thor's answer – that is, if he even bothers to give one – and just shakes his head before continuing, "Her engines are working, so you won't need to grapple her. Just make sure the hyperspace window stays open a couple extra seconds and we'll follow after."

"Yeah, but I think you might find the _lack of life support_ to be a bit more problematic."

"I've got eight hours of air. Well, seven-and-a-half. I'll be fine."

"You say that now, but what about when _Aurora_ breaks down halfway back to Atlantis?"

"Rory won't break down," he says, running a soothing hand along the console he'd crashed into. "She's a good girl."

"_Rory_ now is she?"

"Well, Aurora is an awfully long name for such a little girl, don't you think?"

Rodney just snorts. "And you say _I _have no naming capabilities. But, look, seriously, you just _can't_ ride a damaged spaceship through hyperspace."

"I think," he says delicately, "Rory would be happier if I stayed."

"When you say _happier_, do you mean in a Madison, _stay with me until I fall asleep, _happier, or something more HAL, _this mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it, _happier?"

"Er... the first, I guess. Kinda depends, though."

"_Depends_? Depends on what?"

"Who or what is a _HAL_?"

Iohannes can practically hear his _amator_'s nonplussed expression over the comm. "Right," he says after a moment. "Never showed you that one for a reason. But, look, as long as the ship's not homicidal, I'm beaming over there."

"What happened to _you can't ride a damaged _linter_ through hyperspace_?"

"Nothing-" Rodney begins, only to be cut off, apparently by Thor beaming aboard, as the Terran appears a second later in the engine room next to him. "Seriously? Right in the middle of my sentence _again_?"

"The Asgard are known throughout the universe for their bad manners," Iohannes sympathizes – though it's less for Thor's treatment of him and more for the way Rodney's hands fly up to his ears (or, rather, as close to them as he can get through his helmet) as _Aurora_'s song takes a turn for the _fortississimo. _"Hey now,_ delicia_. It's okay. This is Rodney – but you can call him Moreducus. He's a _custodia_. And an engineer. He's going to fix you up real pretty, okay?"

/_Cust-od-i-a?_/ she repeats.

"You remember what that means, Rory?"

Her song calms at this, which Iohannes takes as confirmation. /He will fix us?/

"As much as he can. There'll be whole teams of engineers waiting to fix you when we get back to Atlantis, but he's the best – she's asking," he tells Rodney, who's pulled out his tablet and is presumably working on interfacing with _Aurora_'s systems, "if you're going to fix her."

"Well, I'm certainly going to try. But, first things first: life support, then shields, and then-"

The Terran is cut off once more as the _linter_ makes the distinctive lurch that signifies a jump into hyperspace, which is strong enough to send both of them crashing into far wall before leaving them in an inglorious heap on the floor.

"Make that inertial dampeners, _then_ life support, then shields," Rodney groans.

"Good idea," Iohannes agrees.

_Aurora_ just laughs, and her voice is like bells on a cool spring night.

* * *

><p><strong>an: **Broceliande was an dangerous forest in Arthurian legend. Caracalla was a type of Gaul cloak that lent it's name to a Roman emperor, who favoured the style. Acadia is a version of Arcadia, a legendary utopia. _Hemiolia_ is the Alteran name for a puddle jumper. _Ingeniarius _is engineer. And I'm working on revamping my glossary, so hopefully it'll actually be helpful for the future.


	6. Pars Sex

Legati

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

><p>"Are you telling me," Elizabeta says slowly, the corners of her eyes crinkling as she stares him down from the head of the Conference Room table, "that you <em>knew<em> there were people aboard in stasis before you left here and you _intentionally_ decided not to mention it?"

Iohannes crosses his arms as he slumps further into down into his chair. All in all, he's finding the debriefing for their _Aurora_ mission to be rather more unpleasant than usual, and not only because the nanoids in his head are protesting the strain of dealing with two _intellegentiae__ artificiales _at once.

"Well, I suspected..." he drawls-

-before wincing a moment later as she says, "_John_," with more indignation than he feels the situation really calls for. In fact, there's _no_ situation he can think of deserving of that tone, save for the kicking of small canines, but that's Elizabeta. She always seems to think these things are much worse than they are.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, the Terrans are all very _worst-case scenario_ people. They don't see how any scenario with Atlantis above water and the Wraith not overhead is a victory in its own right. Being alive itself is a victory, no less spectacular than anything his people did build. But such black truths come out of blacker times, and he's glad for their sakes that they've never had to learn those lessons.

Even if it _would_ probably keep him from having to sit through more of these uncomfortable debriefs.

Times being what they are, however, he just raises an eyebrow and asks, already knowing the answer, "Would it have made a difference if I had?"

"The _Aurora_ was your mother's ship. If I'd known there was a chance she was in one of those pods, I wouldn't have sent you on this mission."

Yep. That's what he'd thought. Iohannes allows his eyebrow to fall back into place and does his best to ignore pointed looks that follow.

"She is," Elizabeta continues, "isn't she?"

"Rory says she and the _navarchus,_" he informs her with amazing restraint, "made it into the pods before the life support cut out."

"Rory?"

Rodney, luckily, answers Teyla for him. "It's what he's calling the ship."

"I see," she says delicately. "And this ship, it is alive?"

"Alive? Yes. Particularly stable? No."

"How _not particularly stable_ are we talking about here?"

"Well, I don't think she's going to start singing 'Daisy Bell' any time soon, but I wouldn't try sending her off-world without the Colonel either. But that's just based off the half of the conversation I heard. For all I know she really is cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs and we should all be reaching for our space helmets while still can."

Zelenka, who's sitting on Rodney's other side, makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a choking cough. Even the corners of Elizabeta's mouth turn upwards at this, despite the lingering sense of disappointment in her eyes. Iohannes, however, just exchanges an exasperated look with Teyla.

"It's a reference to _2001,"_ Carson says, apparently taking pity on them.

"Why? What happened in 2001?"

Carson's mouth opens, then closes, then opens again before Elizabeta takes pity on _him_. "It's a movie. Classic science-fiction. I'm surprised that Rodney's not included it in your movie nights."

"Are you kidding?" Rodney snorts. "We live in a city with an AI of it's own. Even _I_ know that's a bad combination."

"Huh. Now I'm curious."

Rodney gives Elizabeta a _see what you've done_ sort of look before turning back to Iohannes. "Fine. We'll watch it next movie night, but don't say I didn't warn you. Now, if you don't mind, could get back on the subject of the Ancients in the pods?"

"Yes, let's."

"First things first, we've gotta get them out. The Ancients, of the pods, I mean. We can argue over whose fault it is later."

"And I've tried to tell you, Rodney, we can't do that. They've been in stasis for over ten thousand years. Sure, the pods slow your ageing considerably, but reviving them is more likely to kill them than wake them up."

"_You_ were in stasis for almost as long, and _you_ were out and about and blowing things up before the end of the day."

"That's because I'm such a piss-poor Alteran that apparently even my metabolism is an outlier. So I'm going to make things simple for you: the _Aurora_ went missing ten thousand, two hundred and thirty-five years ago. The best stasis pod'll slow down your metabolic rate to zero point five percent of normal. The folks in the pods'll have aged fifty-one point one seven five years at best. That puts the average age of the crew somewhere around a hundred years old. At least."

The Terrans (and Teyla) appear to think about this.

"Colonel," Carson says slowly after a moment, "are you saying that the average age of the crew _before_ they went into stasis was fifty years?"

"I think that is what he is saying," Zelenka agrees, his own accent thickening as does. "Which, of course, begs the question: how old are _you_, Colonel?"

"Ten thou-"

"No. Without time in stasis."

"Oh." Iohannes actually has to think about this, which is regrettable, as it's one of the great many things he actively tries not to think about, but, as it's either this or the issue of the pods again, it's the lesser evil.

/Thirty-five years, one hundred ninety-seven days, twenty-six hours, and nine minutes, plus or minus ninety-eight days,/ Atlantis offers more or less helpfully before going back to her conversation with the _Aurora_ – which, while generally pleasant, is also very... enthusiastic.

Maybe after this meeting is over, he'll at least be able to convince his nephew that his Alteran metabolism can handle the half-a-bottle of ibuprofen it's going to take to stop the pounding in his head.

/Sub-stance a-buse is nev-er the an-swer, _pas-tor_,/ Rory chimes in before going back to ignoring him as well.

Iohannes sighs and rubs his hand over his face. It doesn't help, but it gets the point across to everyone involved. "Thirty-five."

"I see. And _before_ you went into stasis, Colonel?"

"Thirty-four, but only just."

Even the Terrans (and Teyla) can do that math. "Are you saying that you dinnae age _at all_ while you were in the Control Chair, lad?"

"Forget that," Rodney, happily, interrupts. (Well, _Iohannes_ is happy for the interruption. Rodney, however, has sounded happier when trucking through the mud or through the muggy innards of a hive ship.) "If fifty was the average crew age, what's the average Ancient _lifespan_?"

"A hundred fifty or so."

"Well, I don't see what the problem is then."

* * *

><p>"Okay, I see it now," Rodney says twenty minutes later, when they're all standing outside of what remains of <em>Aurora<em>'s bridge. A ceiling-high bank of forty stasis pods stands to one side of the doors, containing approximately half of the _linter_'s surviving crew. The rest are scattered throughout the ship, in smaller banks of pods, but, even so, half are empty.

Somehow, that's more depressing than the cargo they carry, which are so aged that for perhaps the first time Iohannes can see why the Terrans call his people _Ancients. _

"Told you," he reminds them without much feeling.

"I'll have you know smugness is not an attractive quality."

Zelenka, who's examining the pod next to them, snorts.

Iohannes, however, doesn't even bother rolling his eyes. He just sinks down onto the floor, in the space between the pods containing a moribund _gubernator_ and her equally decrepit _nauta, _and starts rubbing his temples again.

"Perhaps you'd like to go lie down..." Elizabeta ventures, her voice taking on the same delicate tone he'd been using not all that long ago on _Aurora_.

He tries to take offence to this – he _wants_ to take offence to this, - but it hardly seems worth the effort, as it is with so many things in dealing with the Terrans. Better to save his energy for the things which really matter, than to waste it all on little things.

"I'd love to, but I promised Rory I'd stay here tonight, and since there's no way I'm going to be able to sleep with these," he gestures at the pods and their papery-skinned, white-haired contents, "aboard, it's best just to deal with the problem now."

"Colonel, you _cannae_ sleep here," Carson immediately protests, turning away from the tablet Rodney is currently trying to connect to one of the pod's systems. "Nae to be rude to the lass, but the last of of your race – to include your own dear mother – died here. That's nae place for anyone to sleep."

"Yeah, well, they all died _on_ her, so she's feeling a little insecure about that."

It's Teyla's turn to fix him with a look of concern. "Doctor Beckett is right. It is not healthy to spend so much time in the places of the dead, particularly not alone. If you must stay here, let us all join you."

"What?"

The Athosian turns and gives Carson, who voiced this complaint, a quelling glance before kneeling down to Iohannes' level. "Perhaps not all of us, but at least a few. That way you may keep _Aurora_ company, and we may keep yours."

"That's really not necessary."

"I believe otherwise."

Iohannes leans his head back and closes his eyes. "It's really just going to be me talking Rory all night, and I doubt hearing half _that_ conversation is going to be fun for anyone."

"Oh, I dunno," Elizabeta says, examining one of the pods further down the hall. "It could be fun. We hardly spend any time together as a group when there's not an emergency of some sort to be dealt with. You could tell us about the _Aurora_, or we could all just hang out, maybe watch a movie..."

"Yes," Teyla says. "We could all watch this _2001_ movie of which Rodney spoke."

"Rodney may have a point about that not being the best movie to watch on a ship like this, but I'm sure we can find something we'd all enjoy to watch... Hey, John? This one's uniform is different from the others. Could it be the captain?"

"I dunno. Rory said he made it into a pod. Is there an _orbis_ on his collar?"

"_Orbis?_"

"A small silver disc on his collar," he explains with a sigh, climbing back up onto his feet, "kinda like an ensign's insignia in _The Next Generation_, only flatter and with a design on it."

"I'm not sure. His beard's in the way. He's the oldest I've seen so far, if that counts for anything."

He looks. "Yeah, it's the _navarchus_."

"How can you tell?"

"Now," he says lightly, brushing dust off the domed class, "might be a good time to mention that Antonious Alder Navarchus is my _avunculus magnus_ – Mother's father's older brother, to be specific."

"John," Elizabeta admonishes, sounding this time not so much indignant as weary.

"Hey, you never asked, so I never told. I'm told that's supposed to be a big thing with Americans."

Elizabeta covers her eyes with one of her hands.

"That's only the American _military_, John," Rodney points out, frowning at his tablet. "And they'd only get tetchy about our relationship, not the ones you have with your extended family. Which, I might add, you full well know, and has never mattered to you before."

"I'd like to add I was _three years old_ when this _linter_ disappeared. I've more a relationship with Rory now than I ever did with any of her crew, Mother and her uncle included."

"Colonel, you still should-"

"Yeah, well, _should_ has never exactly worked too well for me. Don't see any reason to pick up the habit now. Though," he adds, tapping the glass now, "we really_ should_ do something about these folks. It's almost 1700 and it's the rainy season, so we've got just over four hours to get them to the morgue before nightfall."

Carson lets out a long sigh. "I hate to say it, but the Colonel's right."

"Gee, thanks."

"Even _if_ the reanimation process wasnae likely to kill them, I've nae seen anyone who looks like they'd live more than a few hours, at best."

"I dunno." Rodney says, now outright scowling at his tablet as he waves it over yet another pod. "If they were vegetables, yeah, sure, maybe, but I'm not sure I'm entirely comfortable essentially killing people with these levels of cortical signs."

"What?"

"Yes, yes, I know, moral crisis, I'm just as surprised about it as you are-"

"No, I mean the cortical signs. What about them?"

"Well, the pod are equipped with neural interfaces, and they're all indicating definite brain activity, as though they were all perfectly conscious. I'd assumed it was normal. I take it it's not?" Iohannes shakes his head while Rodney starts tapping his tablet at a furious pace. "All the pods appear to be interconnected too, with a level of data-exchange going on between them that would put all the ISPs on the eastern seaboard to shame."

Zelenka pulls out his own tablet and does much the same. "You don't think...?"

"Well, it's the only thing that makes sense."

"Yes, but would not _Aurora_ have told us?"

"Not if the systems running the stasis units are separate from those for the rest of the ship – which they probably are, if they were only going to ever use them if there were problems with the rest of the ship."

"Gentlemen?" Elizabeth asks. "If you'd kindly explain what you're going on about?"

"It's a neural network. These Ancients? They're not just alive. They're talking to each other. And my guess is, if we can find an empty pod, so can we."

* * *

><p><strong>an:** _Gubernator_ is pilot. _Nauta_ is navigator. _Orbis_ is disc - and, yes, I've taken liberties with the Ancient rank insignia, as we're not exactly given any to go on.


	7. Pars Septem

_Legati_

An Ancient!John Story

* * *

><p>The Terrans believe him when he says the infirmary will have the nearest empty pods, which, while not strictly true – there are seven on the upper-most levels of this bank, - does offer the closest <em>easily accessible<em> pods. And easily accessible is a phrase that's always good to have in the event something, for whatever reason, goes wrong with their plan to connect themselves into with the neural network to talk to _Aurora_'s remaining crew. Iohannes personally believes more is likely to go wrong with the conversation itself than with the method of having it, but he's not about to try telling the Terrans that. Not with this kind of headache.

"What are the odds that anyone without the Ancient gene will be able to connect to the network?" Elizabeta asks as they enter the infirmary.

"None, I am afraid," Zelenka answers, heading for the nearest pod and doing something complicated with his tablet next to it. "Should the need ever arise, the pod would certainly hold anyone with humanoid physiology in suspended animation, but the neural interfaces will most definitely require the gene. In fact, it possible that no one but the Colonel, being an Ancient, will be able to connect."

"What do think John?"

"That I'm the last person to ask." He's happily surprised by the amount of damage this area seems to have incurred – which is to say, very little – and starts opening cabinet doors. The devices inside appear intact and that gives him hope for the rest. "But I don't see any reason why it shouldn't work."

"So I guess it's just the three of us then."

"Oh no," Carson says when he hears this, practically dropping the various bits and bobs he's picked up off the floor, presumably to examine for their medical value. "You're nae putting me into one of those things."

"Don't be stupid. If these things will only work for gene users, than it's you, me, and Colonel Ancient himself at the moment."

"Be that as it may, I'm more good to you out here than I am in the pods in case something goes wrong."

"Eh," Iohannes says as he opens another cabinet, fully aware of the manic grin that lights onto his face when he sees all the – intact – ampoules inside. "Worst that happens is some freezer burn, but if you really don't want to go, we can always call up Lorne for a third, if you think we need one. His gene's the next strongest on base."

"You can tell that?"

"'Lantis can tell. Actually, I'm surprised she hasn't made him a _custodia_ yet."

"One day you're really going to have to explain to us how this whole _custodia_ thing works, Colonel."

He shrugs as he sorts through the bottles. "She likes anyone who likes her back. If you like her enough and have the right genes, you get to hear her song. You go the extra mile and have the nanoids put in your nervous system, and she talks to you. She's a bit of a _meretrix_ that way. Oh," Iohannes breathes, finding the one he's been hoping for, "_Laudate providentiam medicorium._"

"Pardon?" Teyla asks.

"It's not important," he explains, opening the bottle and dry-swallowing two of the pills inside before the Terrans (or Teyla) realize what's going on and try to stop him.

He surrenders the bottle to Carson when he takes it from his hand, and watches as he surrenders it in turn to Elizabeta, who's by far the best among them at reading written Alteran.

"Relax. It's just a painkiller."

"A _ten thousand year old_ painkiller, Colonel," Elizabeta admonishes.

"Like those things ever go bad. So, are we calling in Lorne or not?"

"I dunno, John. If you're feeling bad enough that you need to risk ten thousand year old pills..."

"I'll be fine. Rory's just a little overexcited to be back and it's giving me a headache. Not such an unusual occurrence. So, Lorne, yes or no?"

Elizabeta raises a hand to her eyes. "Yes, please." She sighs. "Thank you for at least maintaining the illusion that I'm in charge here."

"You _are_ in charge here," Iohannes reminds her before radioing Lorne. "It just doesn't take the nightmare that is the Terran bureaucratic system to deal with a headache. No offence."

She doesn't answer, and he goes to peer over Rodney's shoulder while they wait for the Major to arrive.

* * *

><p>"How's your head?" Rodney asks him quietly once the others have all stepped out into the corridor, presumably to discuss how the return of Mother's <em>linter<em> has sent him into some sort of psychotic death-spiral, or whatever the dressed-up Terran term is for whatever they think he must be feeling.

"Better. Surprising as it is, 'Lantis is proving to be something of a calming influence on Rory. Though," his nose wrinkle with distaste, "she _does_ insist on calling her _Mother_." Well, _Matre_, but same difference.

"That's just..."

"Creepy?"

"More than that."

"You think of a stronger word than that, let me know, 'cause guess what that makes _me_ in her little fantasy land?"

Rodney shudders. "And just when you think things in the Pegasus galaxy can't get any weirder..."

"Tell me about it," he snorts. "But, seriously, I'm more worried about you."

"Me?" his _amator_ asks as if it's the most ridiculous question ever. "You're the one who just took drugs of questionable expiry date."

"Yeah, but I've been dealing with this," he gestures vaguely at the overhead, "pretty much my whole life. I'm used to it. You, however, are not."

"Yes, well, my eardrums, miraculously, are intact, so I think I'll survive. Plus, if this is your way of trying to keep me from going in with you, it's not going to work. You met Jeannie, and turnabout is fair play and all of that."

Iohannes sighs. "You're in for a disappointing time then: Mother and I share a few genes, nothing more."

"Oh, please. Even if she wasn't your mother, I'd want to meet her, engineer to engineer and all that. And don't get me wrong, I love you to frankly embarrassing pieces, but it'd be nice to talk to an actual Ancient who has a clue about how any of the tech we find works."

Chuckling softly, "I sometimes have clue. Usually not much of one, but still a clue."

Rodney smiles indulgently at him, which should be more insulting than it is except, hey, it's Rodney, and, as if picking up on his thought, Rodney turns away from his tablet just long enough to raise a hand to the back of his neck and pull Iohannes in for a quick kiss-

-which is wonderful, because, for all they try to keep _them_ and _work_ separate, an awful lot of stuff lately has danced back and forth across that thin, invisible line through no fault of their own, and _stellis in universum_, if this isn't one of them-

-but, also apparently not quick enough, because Lorne chooses that exact moment to walk into the infirmary. "Whoa. Not to be rude or anything, Sir, but don't you guys have like _rooms_ or something you could do that in?"

"We had one," Rodney retorts, stepping away with only the faintest tinge of red colouring his cheeks. "You're the one who didn't knock."

Lorne shrugs. "You're the one's who called me."

"So we were, Major. Elizabeta tell you what we wanted to do?"

"Yessir. Something about hooking ourselves into these stasis units and hoping we can talk to some mostly-dead Ancients without frying our brains."

"Yeah, that's about it. So what d'ya say we plug ourselves in and get this thing over with?"

Rodney rolls his eyes, but gestures at the pod in front of him with a flourish. "After you, Colonel."

Iohannes climbs into the pod and grins up at him as the lid closes.

* * *

><p>The next thing he knows is that he's in the infirmary. Not <em>Aurora<em>'s infirmary, but Atlantis'. It's easy to tell, even with his eyes still squeezed shut: It smells like antiseptic, which his people had no need for. There's a weight in the crook of his arm that can only be an IV. And, of course, there's the faint _beeping_ in the background that, as far as he's been able to discover, is wholly unique to the Terran practice of medicine.

The next thing Iohannes notices after that is the pain: The overwhelming, blinding, white-hot pain radiating from the top of his head down, like someone's started to take an axe to it and stopped halfway through. It's as if Rory and 'Lantis and a thousand other _intellegentiae__artificiales _are screaming wordlessly in his mind, only not, and that's all the explanation he has because that's about as far as he can think at the moment.

He tries reaching out for Atlantis, wanting to get her to just _shut up_ for five minutes, when the pain suddenly flares. After which come more voices, loud and panicked, assaulting him from every direction.

Then there is blackness.

And silence.

And sleep.

* * *

><p>When Iohannes wakes again, it's with the stupor of one whose both been drugged and asleep far too long, but it's also without the pain from before, so he's going to call it a victory.<p>

"What the fuck just happened?" he asks the room at large, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He doesn't really expect an answer, and so is surprised when Elizabeta answers-

"You'd a seizure, Colonel. Probably because of those pills you took."

"Actually," Carson interrupts, "the medication was exactly what John said it was – an analgesic similar to paracetamol, albeit in a dosage I wouldnae recommend for a normal human. As far as I've been able to determine, the neural network operates at a similar frequency as the one the nanoids in your brain use to communicate with the city. Attempting to connect to the network created a positive feedback loop, which resulted in a grand mal seizure."

Iohannes pushes himself into a sitting position, ignoring the way the lights overhead flicker concernedly. "Never had one of those before. How long was I out?"

"A little over seven hours."

"And the mission?"

"Doctor McKay and Major Lorne were able to connect to the neural network and communicate with the surviving crewmembers," Elizabeta tells him, the disappointment momentarily disappearing from her eyes. "Once they were able to convince the captain that what they were saying was true, they agreed to share what knowledge they could."

"So they're still plugged in then?" Iohannes really doesn't know how he feels about that.

"Rodney is. Major Lorne's dealing with another situation which arose while you were out."

"Don't tell me Sergeant Anderson and Doctor Losev got into it again."

"No. A ship appeared in orbit."

Iohannes has the needle out of his arm and his feet over the side of the biobed before the word is even fully formed on his lips. "Wraith?"

"Colonel, you should really-" Carson begins.

Neither he nor Elizabeta heed him. "No," she says. "Asgard."

That gives him pause. "One of Thor's friends?"

"Considering he shot them out of the sky, I sincerely doubt it."

"He say why?"

"No," she says in the most embittered tone Iohannes has ever heard from her, "All I know is that he'll only talk to you about it."

"Don't take it personally. The Asgard have never been known for their manners."

"Well, manners or not John, you're Atlantis' military commander."

Iohannes frowns. "It's not like I planned on having – what was it again?"

"A grand mal seizure," Carson offers. "Two, actually."

"Yeah, one of those. I'd no idea a feedback loop was even possible with my nanoids, let alone that neural network would cause one."

"That's not the point John."

His frown deepens, though this is more because he can't seem to find his shoes than anything to do with Elizabeta. She never seems to think he sees the point in her arguments, which, while usually true, is also irritating. Either she needs to start speaking more clearly or accept that there are just some barriers that all the effort in the world can't overcome, belonging to different species being one of them. "What is then?"

"That you're the _military commander_ of Atlantis, not the head of this Expedition. You can't just go doing things like this."

"Like what?"

"Like conducting negotiations with the Asgard completely behind my back."

Slowly, "It's not behind your back. Thor told you himself he wanted to talk to me."

"That's still not the point, Colonel."

"Huh." He thinks. "Is it about the negotiation part then? 'Cause I don't like it any more than you do, but, for all the Asgard like you Terrans, they still think you're a young race. They're not going to do anything that they think might end up with you guys destroying yourselves."

"No. This is about you two making decisions for the all rest of us – decisions that are rightfully _mine_ to make – based off the ridiculous assumption that we're too _primitive_ to make informed choices."

Iohannes holds up his hands. "Whoa. Hang on a second. Don't shoot the messenger and all that. _I'm not the one you should be arguing with_. Goodness knows why, but I like Terrans.. Terra not so much, but I've got no problem with most Terrans. Unless they're archaeologists, but that's more of a _on principle_ sort of matter. I'd hate Alteran archaeologists too if there were any around."

It's a sign of something that she doesn't even smirk at this last. "That doesn't change the fact that you're going along with it."

"Well, it's not like he's given me much of a choice."

"You're not exactly giving me much of one either."

"What would you have me do, Elizabeta?" He sighs. "It's hard to convince them that you're an advanced race when you're still surprised every time it gets pointed out to you just how imperfect and ungodlike my people were. They don't interfere in any culture that still believes them – or their allies – to be gods, even if you don't worship them."

Elizabeta's arguments grind to a stuttering halt at this. She appears stricken by an emotion for which no Descendant language has a word, but which might best be described as _the realization that that which she believes in is not worthy of her worship_.

After a moment, she manages, "That's not what we think, John," but it's a poor argument and, by her tone, even she knows it.

Iohannes just shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not, but why else would you be so upset I managed to land myself in here again 'cause of something none of us could have predicted?" He turns to Carson, who's watching the proceedings with an air of one who _really_ doesn't want to get dragged into them, and asks, "Wha'cha do with my boots?"

"They're in the cabinet, same as always," the doctor says after a moment, "but you really should still be in bed. Ancient or not, a seizure is still a seizure, and you could have-"

"No time for that, Doc."

/The _medicus _is right, _pastor,_/ the city says softly, speaking more gently than he's heard her since this first pulled him out of the _cathedra_. /You are injured. You should remain in the infirmary. The _Asgarthi_ are allies. They will understand the delay./

/You must get bet-ter,/ _Aurora_ whispers, her voice quieter still. /We do not wish you to die like the oth-ers, _Pa-ter_./

"I'm not going to die."

"Well, no-" Carson begins, but Iohannes quickly cuts him off, pointing upwards as he says-

"See, Rory? Not dying. You've got nothing to worry about."

/But  
>you are the last, <em>Pa-ter<em>. You must keep your-self safe or else all is lost./

"Nothing's lost."

/Eve-ry-thing is lost if you die./

His eyebrows rise of their own accord, and Iohannes pauses halfway through tying his boots to answer. "I don't believe that. What does it matter-?" Iohannes looks briefly between Carson and Elizabeta before biting his tongue and opening his mind. /What does it matter if I die, if doing so will prevent a thousand more deaths?/ Not that he has any plans about dying because of something as stupid as a _positive feedback loop. _And, beside, he feels perfectly fine now. A little achy, but he's dealt with worse.

The light directly overhead dims perceptively, then brightens dramatically, as if in a sigh. /_Aurora _is right, _pastor: _you are the most important thing in the universe./

Iohannes snorts with as much derision as he's managed to pick up from his _amator _and finishes tying his boots. "The universe is vast and we are small. To believe otherwise is to open the door to _Haeresis_."

/You saved _Ma-ter. _You saved us."

"You're prejudiced. Now, please, can you tell Thor I'm ready to talk to him before Elizabeta has an aneurysm and Carson has to scan somebody else's brain today?"

Both Carson and Elizabeta start to talk over each other again, but this time it is the doctor who wins out. "I really must insist, Colonel. You're not well enough-" is as far as he gets before a white light fills the room, and Iohannes finds himself transported up to the _Muspelheim_ in orbit.

* * *

><p>an: _Laudate providentiam medicorium_ is roughly _thank goodness for the paranoia of doctors_. Very roughly.


	8. Pars Octa

#34

An Ancient!John Drabble

* * *

><p>"So that happened," Iohannes says, pushing off the door of Elizabeta's office.<p>

She looks up from her laptop, clearly startled. "Colonel. I didn't know you were back."

"Thor just beamed me down. Major Lorne's sticking around for a while longer, just in case they need a gene user."

"Why would they-?"

"Well, it's kinda a long story."

Elizabeta gestures at the small couch in the corner – the one he hauled into her office himself after the first time he'd caught her dozing at her desk, waiting for a team to return from off-world – and gratefully sinks into it. Words cannot describe how glad he'll be when this day is finally over.

"Well, first an all, I'm sorry for being such an ass earlier."

"You weren't-"

"No, I was. It's just..." he sighs. After a moment of twisting, he lays supine on it, legs bent at the knees to make them fit. "Having the Asgard here was supposed to help, y'know? Heimdall and Sigyn were supposed to find the answer to their cloning problem with the old _icubiti_, so that they could help with the Wraith and the _Haeretici_ and moping up what's left of the goa'uld in your galaxy. Them being here was supposed to solve everything."

"John," she says softly. "The Asgard have been trying to find a solution to their cloning problem for millennia. I think even they knew coming here that the chances of success were slim."

"I know. But still. You've no idea how much I wanted to save them."

"I'm sure they'll come up with a solution with time."

"No so much, no. The problem is worse than they're letting on. They'll be extinct within a few years."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. It's one of the more useful titbits I brought back from when I Ascended." More gruesome as well, but Elizabeta doesn't need to know that. No one does. Not even the Asgard, though Iohannes supposes they're just as privy to all the painful details as he is.

"That's terrible."

"Yeah. After he checks out some things on Sagremor for me and drops Lorne off here, Thor's going to take the _Muspelheim _back to Orilla. Things to get in order, y'know."

Elizabeta very carefully says nothing. After all, what can anyone say when learning Terra's oldest and most stalwart ally is going to be dying a very painful death sooner rather than later?

"But, anyway," Iohannes continues after a moment, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep (and nothing more). "He and Lorne are going to Sagremor because the ship that attacked us, the _Brísingamen,_ was looking for something. A key, of sorts, to a weapon Father built there when attempting to find a way to destroy the Wraith."

He can hear Elizabeta's chair squeak as she leans forward. "What sort of weapon?"

"Well, it wasn't a weapon in the traditional sense. It was more of a device, one that could jam up the Wraith's hyperdrives without harming our own, basically leaving them easy pickings for our _lintres_. He dismantled it when he learned that one of it's side-effects was the spontaneous detonation of the _portae._"

"Yes," she says slowly, "you mentioned something along those lines once. The Attero device, I think? I tried looking it up in the database, but all my searches came up empty."

"Huh. That's odd. It was actually Council-sanctioned research for once, so it should've been there..."

"Maybe he deleted it himself?"

"Possibly. I dunno. All I know is he promised me – he _swore_ to me on the ashes of our forefathers – that he'd destroyed Attero after seeing what it could to. But, apparently," he adds, weary but unsurprised. Father had never kept any of his other promises. He's hardly staggered to find he's broken another one all these thousands of years later, "all he did was hide the key, 'cause the Vanir found the device, figured out what it could do, and came looking for the rest of it."

"I'm sorry, who are the Vanir?"

"Rouge Asgard with a history of human rights violations longer than they are tall. Your lot have never heard of them 'cause the Asgard took care of them while I was in the _cathedra_. Or, at least, they thought they did. Thor's a little embarrassed about that, so he's agreed to destroy the research outpost on Sagremor – the planet where the device is located – for us. And, when I'm done here, I'm gonna try tracking down the key."

"Atlantis is a big city. We've been here eighteen months and have barely explored a third of it. There's a chance you may never find it."

"Did I mention Thor took prisoners before blowing up the _Brísingamen? _

There's distinct exasperation in her voice when she says, "No, you didn't."

"Yeah, it's another reason he's so keen to get back to Orilla. But, like I was saying, he took prisoners, and the prisoners said that they didn't pick up the subspace signal they tracked here until a week or so ago. Since I started show Rodney around some of Father's more secret labs around then, it's probably a good bet the key's in one of them."

"And the Vanir?"

"My guess is that they came in cloaked, saw the _Muspelheim_ in orbit, and decided to wait until she was gone to try getting their hands on the key."

"So," she surmises, "when Thor left this morning to fly you out to the _Aurora_, they thought he'd left for good and planned their raid for that night, not knowing that you were coming straight back."

"Exactly – although I think it's yesterday morning by this point."

"Is it?"

"For almost two hours now."

"God," she groans before snapping her laptop shut. "I'd not meant to stay up so late."

"So you _weren't_ waiting up for me then?"

"Goodness, no. I figured you'd show up at breakfast refusing to tell us about any of it and decided to cut my losses and try to put together a report for Stargate Command about all of this."

"Now that's just hurtful."

"Well honestly John? You don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to full disclosure on these things."

"I think I've been awfully upfront with things, actually."

"Really?" Elizabeta laughs with obvious disbelief.

"Hey, I _told_ you when you did it that you'd end up regretting making me your military commander. That's pretty upfront."

"Oh, John, I don't _regret_ that at all. It's just..."

"You just wish I was the kind of Alteran you wanted to find." He finishes for her. "Don't worry about it. You're not the first person to ever think that."

"John-"

"Look," he sighs, "in case you haven't noticed, I take _pride_ in not being like others. It's kinda my thing. Maybe not the _best_ thing to have, but it's worked out pretty well for me so far. And, I mean, sure, sometimes it means I end up giving C4 to people like the Genii, but it also means that Atlantis and everyone on her is still alive, so I'd guess the books are still balanced in my favour."

"Which I suppose brings us to the other side of this conversation."

Iohannes sits up, surprised. "This conversation has sides?" When had _that_ happened?

"Yes. It does," Elizabeta insists. Now that he's sitting up, he can see her fiddling with the pendant on her necklace and trying to meet his eyes. "If you feel the need to apologize for earlier, it's only right I apologize for having put you in that position in the first place. I know how uncomfortable the very idea of you or your people being worshipped makes you, especially in light of everything that's going on with the Ori back in the Milky Way, and should have seen the position I was putting you in."

"It's not your fault. You didn't realize you were doing it."

"Maybe not, but that doesn't change the fact that I was putting you in an impossible position. For that, I truly am sorry."

Iohannes isn't good with feelings, but he puts all that he has into, "I know you are."

"It's just-"

"_Elizabeta_. It's okay. Really. Now stop apologizing, please. It's starting to make _me_ feel guilty again."

"Okay than," she smiles, rising to her feet. "Now, it's been a long day and I think we could both use some rest. So see you at breakfast?"

"Sure thing."

* * *

><p>Iohannes doesn't even try sleeping. He knows he won't be able to, not while Rodney's still hooked up to <em>Aurora<em>'s neural network. So he stops by his quarters for a book and the mess for a Thermos of the Athosians' trademark _stout tea_, then heads to the _linter_'s infirmary.

Though on some level he'd known that they wouldn't have left his _amator_ in here alone, he's still surprised to find Zelenka there with a tablet and a carafe of coffee doing much the same.

"Colonel, I thought you might show up. Come, let me show you what I've been able to map of the damages to the ship's systems, as well as a preliminary schedule for repairs. Provided that _Daedalus_ has not left Earth, it may be possible to have her spaceworthy by the end of June. Maybe earlier, depending on what you know about these vessels and what McKay is able to learn from the crew."

"They're not going to show him anything," Iohannes says, slumping on the floor next to the Czech. "They're probably just running him around while they try to get a handle on the situation themselves. When they finally come to terms with the fact that what he's telling them is the truth, they'll probably demand that we shut off the pods right away and let them die peaceful deaths."

"You sound awfully certain of this, Colonel."

"Believe me, I wish I wasn't."

Zelenka sighs heavily before handing over his tablet. "Well, is no matter. We will figure out how to make this ship work with or without their help."

"That's the spirit."

* * *

><p>Iohannes is, naturally, exactly right on what Rory's crew decide to do. Sure, it takes them twelve hours to come to their decision, but they come to the same conclusion regardless: they want to be disconnected from stasis as soon as possible and the only help they're willing to give in the interim is the sort of which the Expedition doesn't really need, <em>id est<em>, lessons on how to run the live support and toggle the inertial dampeners.

He could almost hate them for that, except that even _that_ much is more than he would ever have expected his people to do for any of their Descendants. It's interference of the most minor sort, and when Iohannes learns of it he almost demands that Rodney hook himself back into the neural network and stay there until he's managed to brow-beat them into more. He doesn't, but only because he knows that the only arguments that could work would have to come from his own lips and there's no chance of _that_ ever happening, not when he can't enter the network without seizing and they can't come out without dying. Not even long enough for him to say goodbye.

* * *

><p>The biggest surprise, however, comes after they start removing the crew from stasis. Specifically, when they're about to remove Mother's body from from her pod and Rodney suddenly shouts, "Hang on a second. I almost forgot," before removing the <em>orbis<em> from her collar and handing it to Iohannes. "She wanted you to have this."

"No she didn't," he says automatically, looking at the small silver disc in his hands. It's old and worn, with Atlantis' Avalonian point of origin symbol embossed upon its surface, and more than likely an heirloom passed to her by her grandfather, Iohannes Alder Legatus, for whom he'd been named. Odds are it goes back still further, to some distant _legatus_ in his maternal line whose name has been lost to the ages, or, at least, to him.

In short, it's exactly the sort of thing he doesn't deserve, and Iohannes moves to place it back on Mother's collar, where it belongs.

"_Yes_," Rodney insists, pressing the _orbis_ back into his hand and looking like he can't quite understand when Iohannes had gotten so dense, "she _did._ I told her everything I knew about what you'd done since she'd gone into stasis and she said you'd deserved it, particularly if you were going to be commanding a ship, so stop fishing for compliments and just _take it_ already."

"But-" he starts, uncertain as to which hole in his logic to exploit first, but Rodney, being Rodney, cuts him off again.

"She _wanted_ you to have it," Rodney repeats, and that's the end of it.

* * *

><p><em>Legatus<em>.

Iohannes thinks he could get used to that.


End file.
